


Dusk

by BlueHareGame



Category: True Detective
Genre: Case Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, Writing Exercise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-10-14 19:57:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10543485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueHareGame/pseuds/BlueHareGame
Summary: A series of moments between Rust and Marty post-canon. Some people realise what's in front of them quicker than others. Eventual Rust/Marty.





	1. Dust Settles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OctopusMaps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctopusMaps/gifts).



> A/N: This started as a way for me to practice writing again. This first chapter is a mix of a few half started fics. Hope you like it!

On the ride home from the hospital Marty barely notices the other cars on the road. The air is warm and thick and swirls around the closed space drawing trickles of sweat down his throat numbing his mind. He doesn’t look but listens to Rust in the seat beside him. His legs rasping against his hospital gown; the tic of his nails against the lighter in his hand. He breathes so slowly and so quietly Marty can barely hear it. He thinks about how he could be imagining those breaths. He doesn’t dare to glance to check and ignores the flare of panic in his heart. A minivan cuts them off at the turning to his street and it rips Marty from his fog forcing him to slam onto his breaks as Rusts hand flinches out to hold his chest back and Marty’s stomach broils. He recognises the movement. A parent’s instinct. They sit in silence with the car at a dead stop in the road. There is nobody else around and Marty breathes out on long haggard breath. His eyes drift downwards and he looks at Rusts hand where it lay on his stomach, his touch barely there and gone too soon. He puts car back into gear and starts off again still not looking at Rust.

When he finally does force his eyes to his passenger the light from the street drops shadows under Rusts cheekbones and fills the spaces under his eyes and he looks ghostly. Marty reaches out lifting a hand under his armpit to support him as Rust, achingly slow, climbs out of the car. His heartbeat flutters rapidly under his gown and despite the heat surrounding them his skin bleeds cold through the thin fabric separating them.

 “Get your hand off of me”

Rusts voice is rough and piercing and it snaps like a dried out branch at the end of summer. Marty reaches out again and Rust doesn’t fight him. Marty screws his face up letting his frustration and fear spike in his reply. “Now would you just let me help you for once you ungrateful son of a bitch”

It seems to take an eternity to get them to the door and he props Rust up against the shitty white awning so he can unlock the door. Rust’s paper hospital gown flutters in the breeze and the night heat rises up Marty’s back. The door creaks as it opens and he quickly turns hobbling back down his path to the car where he grabs his bag and half jogs back to Rust, his heart pounding as though if he turned his back for a second he would just fade away.

His eyes were down turned and he was staring at an ugly broken gnome Maggie had bought him years ago. It was wearing a cop’s uniform carrying a set of handcuffs. Its police hat had been smashed off during one of his and Maggie’s ‘breaks’ and it sat lonely and crooked on his otherwise bare lawn.

”Hey, come on now. Let’s get you inside so you can cool off.” Rust’s eyes snap up and it’s like being shot because the haze suddenly drops and they maintain a fierce wild eyed stare. Time seems to stop and Marty can feel the sweat trickle down his back. Rust has the slightest frown and his lips pressed tight together. Marty smells sun soaked wood and flaking paint.  “Rust?” he blinks and the intensity is gone.  Marty stares at the back of his head as they enter the house, unable to tear his eyes away from his sagging shoulders and the shake in Rusts hands as he reaches out to lower himself onto a sturdy wooden dining chair. He ignores the sick flip of his stomach when he realises he is trying to catch Rusts eyes again.

He doesn’t speak but nods his approval when Marty brings him a glass of water gently pressing it into his grasp his gaze focused on making sure Rust's hand closes fully around it before he let go. His fingers brush against Rusts and he feels the room settle, walls almost drooping with Rust. The air was a little too cold inside and Marty’s skin goose bumps when he leans against the kitchen counters. Turning away quickly he cleared his throat. “Look, I’m only going to say this once because I know what you’re going to say and I don’t want to hear it. You’re staying here, with me; until I know you’re not going to drift off into the eternal nothingness or whatever else it is you’re planning on doing. Now, I only have the one bed and since you got the worst of it you are going to take it and be thankful. Alright?” He turns to look and Rust is looking down into his glass. “ _Alright_?” he adds a little more tone to his words and Rust just barely nods. Marty uses all the fight left in him not to reach across the distance between them and grab his face, force him to say something, heck even if it was just to argue with him he would’ve taken it. Instead he turns to the fridge and plucks a takeaway menu from behind a clown fridge magnet Audrey had given him for his birthday. “I hope you’re hungry.”

                                                                

It hits him like a truck. Rust had always had a quiet sort of yearning for the silent moments after waking, the time between unconsciousness and the slow crushing reality of life. On this particular morning he opens his eyes to an unfamiliar sun streaked ceiling, it was a cold sort of light and it filled the room with shadows. Rust sat up dislodging a sheet that had been thrown over his sleeping form. The bed was warm next to him, creases in the sheets and the dent in the pillow the only indication that it wasn’t the suns scouring heat to blame.

Five days to the night he left the hospital Marty had burst into the bedroom at three in the morning. He had been careful about hiding the back pain he had developed from sleeping on the sofa these past few days, wincing when he thought Rust wasn’t watching, but now it seemed he had reached the point of no return. He had stood in the doorway, awkwardly fumbling with the blanket that had been dragged in clinging to his sweat dampened legs. Rust had sat up Marty’s name on his tongue but had been stopped by an intense embarrassed glare from Marty.  As usual Marty was the first to look away pointedly staring at nothing as he crossed the room and slipped into the empty side of the bed. Rust hadn’t mentioned it since.

He turned his back to the window and had to stop to catch his breath. The bitter taste of blood rushed across his tongue and he touched a hand to the thick black stitches on his waist. They felt profound and rough underneath his hospital gown. The sound of a car pulling into the driveway outside set his heart dancing and he got to his feet too quickly the world spinning as he clung to the walls , feeling his way to the en-suite. He closed the door behind him pressing his back to it trying to focus his vision as his bare knees shook with the effort of keeping him on his feet.

Even in his own weakened state Marty was a force of nature and Rust swore the whole earth shook from the force of the front door being closed. His footsteps were confident and forceful and Rust focused on these things, on the sounds of Marty moving around in the kitchen breathing warm air into the place like the heat under thunder clouds before a storm. As the dark clouds began to seep under the door he pulled himself away a few steps to lean over the sink feeling the cold porcelain under his hands and closing his eyes to absorb the scent of soap and Marty’s aftershave. Marty was quiet for a moment and the few seconds seemed to drag on forever to the point of Rust opening his eyes.

He came into brutal focus on his own battered features in the mirror. His eyes shone bright and sharp, glinting in the warmth of the sunlight in the tiny window high above him. It surprised him. Rust was used to his own empty stare and he didn’t quite know what to do with the clarity in his own expression. There was a sudden sharp rapping on the door and the door handle moved as though Marty was about to enter the room. After a beat nothing happened and Rust clenched his fingers on the bowl.

“Rust? You okay in there?”

That was when it hit him. Marty’s voice was soft, almost caring and his heart raced at the realisation that this man, this man who despised him, who fought him in broad daylight and loaded his gun before being trapped in a small room with him, who had been perfectly willing to shoot him if he had to.

This was a man who had held him in this life, had dragged him back pulling him back from the encroaching dark by his own sheer force of will.

Marty _cared_ about him.  

There was one person who put up with his bullshit and it was like it didn’t matter how long it took or how far he went to distance them something in the cosmic bullshit out there was a force that yanked them back and put them together and even his death wasn’t enough to keep them apart.

He had no choice in the matter, there was no escaping it. He was stuck with Marty. Choice was all a man had sometimes and to have that taken away in any other situation would have been the end of it for Rust. But not this time.

This time his lack of choice felt like a blessing, it was easy to just accept it. He was not too proud to admit he wanted this, he knew Marty was a bastard, he knew he was a philanderer and a cheat and his anger roiled inside him like a pot left on the stove too long but parts of Rust needed that. He needed something to fight and something to relax into. He had been staring at himself with those thoughts rushing around in his mind for a second too long because the door swept open; almost softly; as though Marty was scared of what was behind it and he could feel the relief wash over him from the figure in the door when he realised Rust wasn’t lying dead on his bathroom floor.

Marty’s presence was always expansive; it flooded the air around like thick smog shaping the emotions and presence of every person he came into contact with. “You alright?” Rust didn’t look at him and he flinched when Marty’s hand came to a gentle rest of his shoulder. “Rust, you better start talking or you are on a one way trip back to that hospital.”

He turned around leaning his back against the sink this time and the cold seeped into his back. Marty was keeping his face as blank as he ever could his hands balled up in an old gym bag. The sun had caught his cheekbones turning them a shiny pink. Rust could taste cotton and fabric softener, swallowing thickly.

“What’s in the bag Marty?” He made eye contact and Marty lifted his chin a smile spreading softly over his lips.

“I went and picked you up some clothes. I figured my stuff might be too big for you.”

Rust nodded and reached out taking the bag from the other man. It was heavy and he pulled it tight to his body so as not to drop it. As he bowed his head making his way to move past Marty and back into the bedroom he tried to straighten his back. The pain in his gut took a spike and he fought not to gasp. He didn’t want to make Marty fuss over him anymore than he already was.


	2. Chapter 2

 

He sits staring into space for almost twenty minutes before he plucks up the courage to go in. The car ticks over, light and dusty from the long ride back. Marty thinks about chickening out, texting Rust and telling him he was back in town early. But he had this planned since before his birthday; he had etched this one lie, this one day to get himself right. One day where he was free from the ever present scouring eyes of Rustin Cohle.

Marty hesitated as he locked his truck. The omnipresent heat had cooled slightly as dusk broke sending long shadows across the dusty empty land that made up the car park. He had first heard about the bar what felt like decades ago when he was still on the force. Tucked in behind an endless expanse of water logged fields and a motorway burdened with freight trucks and harried travellers the bar was enclosed on all side by tall wire fencing, long and low red walls and small curtained windows leaked yellow light giving it the impression of a private residence. Marty knew that the place came alive on the weekend, loud music would fill the space and people who be spilling out onto the packed carpark, floor shaking with life. But right now it had the feel of the last station before a journey into the endless expanse of the bayou. Marty sucked the cooling air in through his teeth as he pushed forward into the dim light inside.

The room was surprisingly full, small groups and couples sat in booths and at tables sunken a little in front of a creaking stage. A duet of double bass and guitar floated through the air above the hum of chatter, a man and woman singing a country song that ripped Marty back to summer in 93’ waiting outside a corn field for the go ahead to rush a perp’s house. It had been the highest temperatures on record for the entire month and Marty had sweated it out alone, his partner already gone on to a desk job in another county. He never did keep them for long. The warmth inside the bar was different, more comfortable and relaxing. It seeped into his bones instead of scorching his neck and Marty felt his shoulders relax a little.

He checked his corners and caught sight of the bar. Making a beeline he leant up against the corner, careful not to shoulder in on anybody. A couple to his left argue good naturedly with each other and Marty tries to catch the bartender’s eye. One of the men slammed his hand down on the bar raising his voice a little. “I hate you so much dude!” the other one just laughs and shakes his head at the bartender, his attention grabbed by the noise. His gaze slides from the guy over to Marty and a flicker of recognition alighted his eyes.

“What can I get you?”

He leant in elbows on the countertop. He was wearing a blue shirt rolled up to the elbows, unbuttoned a fair way down his chest revealing a large sliver chain. His hair was cut just above his ears in golden waves and he ran a hand through to slick it back from his face. His eyes widened a little and Marty tried not to think about how long he had been staring. The bartender grinned and Marty thought about how he would be almost too handsome if not for his slightly too large teeth and the bags under his eyes. He could feel the shame building up in his throat and stopped, pounding his balled up fist softly against the wood. “Uh, just a beer.” And then after a pause. “Thanks”

“No problem brotha,”

The bartender winks and Marty grinned almost on instinct. He realises he was leaning across the bar; cocking his hip out as his eyes followed the other man’s movements. The way his hand wraps around the handle of the tap, the tense pull in his bicep and the way he flips his hair back with a smile, knowing he is being watched. The beer sloshes over his fingers a little when it’s set down on the bar and Marty chuckles licking the fluid from his fingers.

It’s easy, too easy, to slip back into his old ways. He may be older now but Marty knows his cheeky grin could still get him far. The bartender leans in and Marty catches sight of another guy across the bar staring intently at them both. He doesn’t look angry so much as confused, his eyes big and round as he blinked steadily. He realises Marty is watching and their eyes meet for a brief moment before the guy turns away, sipping his beer and laughing at something some else said. Marty looked back to the bartender.

“This your first time here?”

Marty looks into his beer, snapped back to the reality of what he was doing. Fighting the urge to run he nods. Flirting is easy; actually talking about why he was here is not.

“That obvious huh?”

The bartender runs a hand through his hair again and shrugs. “Well I know all the regulars, and someone as cute as you I would definitely have noticed.”

Marty chokes on his mouthful of beer and knows his cheeks are burning. He glances up at the bartender and swallows hard. This is too much. Flirting is easy. The bartender takes sympathy on him. “I’m Max. Don’t worry, I’m not being serious, man, sadly my heart belongs to another.” He tilts his head towards the guy that had been staring before. “Not that he knows that.”

Marty closes his hands around his beer and glances around. He laughs at the idea of giving relationship advice to this stranger, giving gay relationship advice about telling a guy that you are interested in him, to a stranger. Max sighs and Marty takes swig of his beer trying to sound more relaxed than he feels. Trying to ease back into the old ways again.

“I don’t see why a guy like you couldn’t get with that guy.” He gave the guy a once over. His hair was long at the front and hung into his eyes and he was dressed like a man 5 years his younger, but he looked confident, relaxed in himself in a way Marty could only dream of. “I mean shit, he is what? Fourteen?”

Max laughed throwing his head back. The guy glanced over and for a second his eyes were only on Max an answering grin flittering across his face until he looked quickly at Marty and his face dropped again. He turned back to the group but Marty knew he was no longer paying attention to them.

“No, the fact he has little in the way of fashion sense somehow doesn’t make me like him any less. I must be crazy right.” He laughs again and Marty joins in. Max stops after a second and looks Marty up and down something soft about the wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. “Shit man, can I tell you a secret?”

Max leant in close and Marty could smell the strong aftershave he wore. It filled his senses for a brief moment and his gaze lingered at the hollow of Max’s throat and the way his teeth caught on his bottom lip. “Shoot.”

“This was his dad’s bar you see. He only moved down here because when his pop died his family were gonna sell the place. You know, get rid of the dirty queers once and for all. That was when I knew right? He turned up to the bar one night like two weeks after his dad died and he had this look on his face and he told me, I’m quitting my job, and shit it was a really good job too and he did it. He quit his job and he told me he was moving down here to run the bar no matter what his family said. I knew right then that is the man I love, that is the man I’m going to follow to bumfuck nowhere on the pretence of wanting to get out of the ‘rat race’” Max made air quotes and rolled his eyes laughing a little at himself “even though he is, to my knowledge, straight and never gonna be interested in me anyway. Because I do you know, I love him.”

Max’s voice had gotten so soft Marty had to lean in even closer to hear him, feeling the guys burning stare from across the room. His heart was in his throat, hanging on every word. “Look man, I used to be a detective and I can tell you one thing, that guy is interested.” His own whisper is conspiratorial if a little shaky and he laughs when Max flushes and glances over to catch the guys’ eye. They stare at each other for a long second and Marty can feel his chest tighten at the almost palpable tension between the two of them pull taut. Max turns back to him and sweeps Marty’s empty glass from his hands, pulling another and bringing it back in one flurried flustered movement. He glances back again to see the guy being pulled towards the pool table hidden in a dark corner and laughs at him shrugging back with a grin that promised more. Max turned back to Marty and pushed the beer forward, a little breathless. 

Marty swallowed thickly and looked down at his hands. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end almost like he knew what was about to happen.

“So that’s my secret. What’s yours?”

 

Rust feels like a faithful dog whose owners been gone too long. He gets up and moves outside to sit on the deck. He has already given up the pretence that it’s because he wants a smoke. He was just that restless, his skin jumping and twitching every time he hears a car door slam outside or the slap of shoes against concrete.  The lawn chairs squeaked as he opened it wincing at the pull on his stiches. He settled down to watch the sun rise up above the houses to his east sending long shadows to brush shivers across his skin.

He had spent the week Marty had been visiting Audrey alone in the house. He didn’t trust himself enough to go out to town without ending up in a bar or worse so instead he decided to put some use to the enormous collection of tools and equipment Marty had laid out in his garage. An altar to years of Christmas’s and birthdays with a family who didn’t really want to know each other at all. He had never seen Marty so much as hang a picture of the wall let alone makes use of a professional grade carpenters toolkit.

He started with the easy jobs, clearing the gutters, painting the window frames. He stood out front in nothing but a pair of Marty’s faded blue jeans, the sun beating down on his pale back bringing out his still healing scars and the black stiches against rapidly browning skin. He was painting the deck when Marty’s neighbours pulled up their driveway across the street. He could hear their laughter sharp and stabbing in the thick summer fog. The laughter stopped, petering out and he was aware of four pairs of eyes on his back. Rust put his paintbrush down on the upturned lid and turned around, putting his hands up to his eyes to shield them from the sun.

The father of the family made an abortive move with his hand as though he was going to wave but though better of it. Rust nodded in greeting, because the mother was pulling the two kids close. One boy maybe eleven or ten, and a younger one no older than six. The father glanced to his family and stepped in front of them raising his hand fully this time as they stared in standoff across the baking tarmac of the street.

“Hey partner. You a friend of Martin’s?”

Rust glanced at the open door of Marty’s house, to his own bare feet, toes curled under the too long cuffs of Marty’s jeans. He thought about how nobody called him Martin. How wrong that sounded. “You could say that.” His own drawl carried heavy through the air and he could feel the bitter tang in the back of his throat. He put his hand down and to his waist nodding at the neighbours. He was never good at being human like this, making small talk, maybe way back when before college, before the accident.

The father cleared his throat. “Got some good weather today huh?” the father’s pained politeness sent the hairs on Rusts arms standing up to attention. “Martin not enjoying it?”

The suspicion made him narrow his eyes. To be fair this was probably more than a little odd to them. Marty had been alone for god knows how long now to Rusts understanding, and since they had got back from the hospital Rust had stayed mostly in doors. Floating about the place like a ghost, feeling himself fading into the walls.

But with Marty gone he had had time to think.

The first night he woke up without him in the bed, without the deep rumbling snores to lull him back to sleep he had stayed up all night just _thinking_. There were still long hours of the day he would find himself staring into nothingness, contemplating how easy it would be to break the lock on Marty’s bathroom cabinet and fall asleep to wake up in the eternal nothingness. To just go on and find that warmth and love he knew was waiting for him there. To remove the burden of his sadness and his anxieties and the fucked up way things always turned out for him and the people around him.

But he also knew what that would do to Marty. He was here, and he cared about him and Rust owed him that much to keep on living so Marty wouldn’t be alone again.

“Visiting family.” His words came out curt and he turned his back on the man picking up his paintbrush again. But he didn’t leave. Rust heard the door open and close but he could still feel eyes on the back of his neck. Nervous steps on grass and then on tarmac and then on grass again.

“Hey _buddy_.”

Rust stood up ramrod straight, as tall as he could, and turned slowly on his heel, paintbrush dripping white onto the grass. He could taste cheap leather and salt. He didn’t speak he just eyed up the man’s crossed arms, his palms spread wide under his armpits like he was comforting himself. The guy cleared his throat and Rust looked into his wide eyes.

“I ain’t your buddy.”

“Well who are you then, because I haven’t seen-“

“I’m a friend of Marty’s.”

The man looked him up and down and then glanced over his shoulder to a curtain twitching in his window. “Look, I just want to know who you are okay. Martin never mentioned he was going to have…. _visitors_ and he has been gone for a couple of days and now-“

“I ain’t visiting. I’m staying with Marty for a while. And that’s all you need to know so if you don’t mind” Rust lifted the paintbrush splattering a bit on the guys black shorts “I got work to do.”

The neighbour spluttered and went to reach out to grab Rusts arm and turn him back around but Rust reached out lightening quick and grabbed his wrist glaring into his eyes. The man’s face paled. “Get the fuck off of this property.”

He ripped his hand away and squared up for a second before chickening out when Rust didn’t even flinch, Rust watched as he walked briskly back towards his house face burning red. “I’m calling the police!”

“Good fucking luck with that”.

It was early still when Marty rolled back into the driveway and he was surprised to find Rust sat on the porch in a too big faded tour shirt Marty had brought him from the goodwill and a white paint speckled pair of Marty’s old jeans. He was leaning back in a lawn chair with his fingers resting knotted together on his chest and his long hair hanging loosely about his face. His feet were bare and crossed at the ankles and it was the most relaxed he had seen Rust since he had brought him home.

Marty’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as he listened to the engine wind down, desperately ignoring the instinct to take a picture or something. Anything that would let him bask in that perfect picture for a couple more hours at least. Rusts eyes opened when he closed the car door and he gave Marty a once over, his eyes scouring him intensely for ten burning second before he closed them lazily again.

“Hey Rust, miss me?” Rust raised his eyebrows but didn’t respond. Marty looked around at the newly painted deck, the path had been brushed and the lawn mowed. The windows shone bright in the cool morning light. “I see you’ve been busy while I was gone?” he hated the fake cheer in his voice, something he had picked up since bringing Rust home. Asking him stupid inane questions like that was suddenly going to make him cheer up and become magically chattier.

Rust opened his eyes fully this time and sat up nodding in the direction of the neighbour’s house across the street.

“Met the neighbours..”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is getting a bit more plotty than I planned originally planned but as a writing practice I just have to keep at it. Hope you guys like it.

Marty got up at 6 every morning, a holdover from his days on the force, and often Rust would wake with him. He hated the feeling of the bed going cold beside him and the void Marty’s presence left when he stumbled out of the room. Marty would always grab his clothes and change in the ensuite, leaving the door open a crack. He knew Marty worried about him.

He was subtle about it but Rust knew.

It was all the little things, like that crack of cold white light splitting the bedroom carpet so he would hear if Rust got up, it was the texts throughout the day asking inane things about old cases on the pretence that he needed help with his clients cases, it was the way he would slowly sweep the room when he came home at night as if he was still scared he’d find Rust gone or worse.

Marty shuffled down to the kitchen on his tiptoes and Rust waited for the tell-tale sound of him clicking the coffee pot on before pulling himself from the bed. His stomach ached and his shoulders too. The bathroom still smelt of Marty’s aftershave, soapy water splashed around the sink and flecks of toothpaste on the mirror.

Rust stared at himself. It was no surprise Marty was so worried about him. His cheeks looked sunken, his thin face framed by the long unkempt strands of hair that had fallen from his hair tie. His dusty blonde had started to fade to a pale almost silver and his moustache only highlighted the droop of his mouth. Rust clicked his tongue against his teeth. He lifted the tour shirt he had worn to bed up over his head and titled his head. He still had some of the muscle tone he had maintained through lifting beer barrels back at the bar but he had lost enough weight to make the dip between his collarbones a little too pronounced and the curve of his waist a little too sharp. The scars were still pink and raw looking, particularly where his stiches had been taken out and Rust ran his fingers over them biting down on his tongue at the sensitive spike of pain.

Rust ran the tap splashing the cold water over his face and he made eye contact with himself, still surprised at the light that shone there. He had spent the past months fixing up Marty’s house while he was gone just so he could feel like he was doing something in return for Marty. Anything to thank him for taking him in without actually having to say the words, as though painting the fucking deck was repayment for dragging him out of the dark. Sometimes he thought about smashing the place up, when he plagued himself about the warmth and the love he had been denied but surprisingly these feelings came less frequently every day. Rust looked up from his scarred knuckles. He could at least do something to lessen Marty’s worry.

It wasn’t like he was expecting a big reaction as he padded down the hall to the kitchen but he couldn’t ignore the way his stomach dropped at the sound of the front door clicking shut. He felt empty again, his own heart to loud in the now silent house. A cup of coffee sat steaming on the countertop and Rust heard his phone trill from the bedroom indicating Marty’s first text of the day. He sighed running a hand over his newly shaven face, pulling down to sharpen the sting of the sensitive skin. He felt stupid; embarrassed in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. What exactly was Rust doing? Trying to pretty himself up for a man so far in the closet he would rather get up three hours early for work than face another living breathing man acknowledge they were sharing a bed?

Marty checked his watch; he still had two hours before the agency officially opened for business. Being sat in slow moving traffic with the sky just beginning to brighten and soft country music on the radio did nothing to ease the clock ticking over in the back of his mind. Two hours before open meant half an hour to get to the gym across town, forty minutes to get through his cardio and weights, ten minutes for a shower and another half hour drive to the office would leave him only ten minutes to relax and get himself ready for any new cases that came in that day. 

The gym was always quiet, that was partly why he picked it, and no danger of running into anyone he knew from the force. No danger of running into anybody he knew full stop. He caught sight of himself in the mirrored wall and winced. Long years of takeout and microwave meals had taken a toll, but the past month of early mornings tearing himself away from their comfortable bed was already starting to show some improvement. He sucked his gut in and flexed, a woman who looked to be in her forties, tight gym clothes highlighting every sweeping curve of her body raised an eyebrow over his shoulder and Marty blushed grinning at her in his reflection.

She laughed with him, “That show just for me?” She had that good southern girl drawl and Marty shrugged; winking. “Like what you see?” He flexed again posing. She laughed again walking over to him.

 “I’ve seen you around. I’m Ruth.”

She stuck out a hand and Marty took it shaking gently. “Marty.”

She flicked her long blonde hair over her shoulder and crossed her arms. “Training to be the next Mr. Universe are we?”

Marty licked his lips dragging his eyes slowly over her legs and up her soft stomach to her chest and then up to her eyes. “Think my chances are pretty good this year.” Marty leant into the sound of her laugh. She opened her plump lips to say something but Marty’s text message tone interrupted and he grabbed his phone in muscle memory his eyes flickering to the screen and he gasped. Rust tended to be short on words and direct to the point with texting Marty. No matter how many questions he asked or how many paragraphs of text he sent Rust’s reply would inevitably be short one word sentences. This time however was different.

**I took the money from under the flowerpot. I have a case for you but you didn’t pick up at the office. R.**

Rust was on his way to the office. Marty looked up and Ruth raised her eyebrows. “That the wife?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

 

Rust had been standing out on the front path staring at the garage door for some time when he was pulled from his reverie by a polite feminine cough. “Um, excuse me?” Rust turned to look at the woman stood in her own driveway next door. “Uh, hi?” She waved awkwardly and Rust stood up a little straighter.

“Mornin’ ”

“Are you alright sir? I couldn’t help but notice you standing there?”

There was a long pause and Rust blinked across at her. The weather had started to take a cool edge and the hairs on his arms stood up in the biting breeze. He was dressed in one of the plain white shirts Marty had bought him, a little too tight across his shoulders but baggy around his waist where he had tucked them into the jeans he had now permanently stolen from Marty. His long hair was tied back in a small bun at the base of his neck occasionally catching in the collar of his old jean jacket.

Rust nodded.

“Well okay, sorry I asked I-“

“My apologies ma’am, I’m alright, just remembered I don’t have the keys.” Rust nodded to the open garage door where his old red pickup sat battered and dusty. Marty had taken all of his belongings from the hospital the night he left. Everything including his keys he had bundled up in a bag in his office. The keys had disappeared by the time the bag had been left out for him. The keys hung on a single leather keychain paired on a big brass ring with Rusts old Swiss army knife.

He didn’t have to ask.

“Oh right…Do you want a ride?” She flicked her short brown fringe out of her eyes and blinked at him. The wind lifted her scarf up and around her face and she pulled it down careful not to smudge the bright red lipstick she wore as if it would age her youthful rounded cheeks and acne pocketed skin.

“Don’t you think you’d be better off not offering rides to strange men?”

His voice was low and sincere and she shrugged, biting her lip. “You’re not a stranger. I’ve seen you stand out on that porch every day for the last two months. Plus Marty used to be a cop and he doesn’t seem like the type to let dangerous men crash at his place.”

Rust chuckled softly. He slipped the two fifty dollar bills he had swiped from under the plant pot on the kitchen counter into his pocket and nodded.  She must have been the only neighbour Marty had he had actually spoke to. She was the only one who had looked at him without an ounce of fear or suspicion. Made sense. “Let me lock up?”

She turned her radio down a little sheepishly when it sprang to life suddenly making Rust flinch in the passenger seat. Bouncy pop music punctuated the silence for the first few miles. Rust stared out at the pavements rolling by, the window cracked just a tiny bit so he could smell the waiting rain on the air, a small escape from the sickly sweet air freshener that sunk into his clothes washing away the detergent smell.

“SO… I didn’t quite catch your name?”

“Rust.”

“Right cool name… Where am I dropping you Rust?”

He looked over at her and tried on a polite smile. “The barbers.”

“Any barber in particular or?”

Rust shrugged. “Hadn’t really thought that far ahead.”

She seemed to relax for a second shaking her head and giving a little huff of mirth. They rolled to a stop at a red light and she took a deep breath glancing at him through the corner of her eye. “Hey Rust, Marty is a detective right?”

“Mhm.”

“He just do cheating husbands or does he take on other stuff?”

Rust sat up fully in his seat and looked over at her. “What’s your name?”

“Siobhan, most people just call me Sean though.”

She blushed under his scrutiny hands flexing on the steering wheel. Rusts fingers twitched and he caught himself reaching for a notepad in his pocket that wasn’t there. He ran a hand down his face as they pulled into a car park a few blocks away from Marty’s office; wondering how long she had been waiting to ask him this.

“What sort of other stuff?”

“Missing persons?”

“That’s a matter for the police Sean.”

“No it fucking isn’t, not if they won’t even entertain it. “ Rust raised his eyebrows at the sudden rush of anger in her voice. She breathed in deeply through her nose and then shook her head fixing him with an almost desperate stern stare. “Look, I have this friend. She lives in Maine and she messages me every day for months, every single day she makes sure to message me, and then it just stops. Eight months of constant conversation and she’s gone. Her Facebook, twitter, fucking everything is just gone and she isn’t texting me back and it’s not like we fought or anything she just vanished and I’m scared Rust. “

He looked at the nails chewed down and raw around the tips and clicked his tongue against his teeth. “You’ve never met her in person?”

“No.”

“You know where she lives? You have any reason to believe she is in danger?”

“Well she definitely lives in Maine; I have a P.O Box for her? And, and I know that her family are really controlling. She had a job for a bit at the library but her dad didn’t like her working there because he said she was spending too much time away from the family. I know that-“

Rust raised a hand and she fell silent her eyes big and glassy and he swallowed hard. He couldn’t look at her. “Is that all you’ve got?”

 “Look, I know I must sound fucking crazy but I promise I can pay you and-“

Rust sighed and pulled out his phone. He only had two numbers saved, Marty’s office and Marty’s phone. Fingers shaking he called the office.

“Hart Investigations, Charlene speaking. How can I help?”

“Hey uh Charlene? Is Marty there?” He could feel heat prickle up the back of his throat and cleared his throat. “It’s Rust.” He licked his lips and kept his gaze on the light reflecting off of the windshield onto the storefronts in front of them.

“Oh I’m sorry honey, he isn’t in yet. I can take a message?”

“Uh no. It’s fine thank you. I got some errands to run in town so I just-“

“You’re in town? He should be in soon; you could just swing by the office…” He ducked his head. He wondered how much she had heard about him, did Marty talk about him. That didn’t seem like a thing he would do. Having a suicidal old drunk sharing your bed didn’t really fit into his respectable retired ex-cop persona.

Sean waved something under his nose and Rust turned taking the slim black notebook with a frown. She mouthed something and he turned the phone away from his ear.

“I gave you a ride. You could at least show him that.  You owe me. “

He flipped open the front page to reveal a bullet pointed list of dates, times and other notes Sean had collected about her friend. The top of the page had the name Paige written in bold marker and underlined. A symbol scratched into the margin sent his heart thumping under his shirt. “I have something to drop by anyway.”

“Oh excellent! Look forward to seeing you honey.”


	4. Chapter 4

The wind blew paper leaflets into Rust’s legs as he stepped back onto the pavement. The weather was taking a turn for the worse and he felt a sprinkle of drizzle on the back of his newly bare neck. He looked through the corners of his eyes into the massive glass window storefront of Marty’s office biting the inside of his cheek when a smartly dressed woman in her late forties glanced up from her computer catching sight of him approaching. She blinked twice, smiled to herself and went back to looking at her screen as though she hadn’t seen him. Rust felt too big and too loud as he pushed through the door setting off a mechanical chime somewhere in one of the back offices. The area that had been full of empty desks was now populated by a large beaten leather sofa, a similarly aged coffee table and rows upon rows of filing cabinets and bookshelves hiding a small kitchenette. In the back of the room behind the dominating three sided desk where Charlene sat were two glass fronted offices. One had blinds that were pulled shut, light off, and the other sat open with another slightly smaller sofa, a table and two chairs. 

Rust stopped his inventory of the room at Charlene’s desk where she perched patiently waiting for him to speak. Her hair was curly red and pulled back into a tight bun, matching the glossy copper of her lipstick. She smelt strongly of musk and sandalwood like one of those cheap washbags the guys at the station would bring in after father’s day each year. Rust ran a hand through his newly shorn hair and then awkwardly waved the hand clasping the notebook to Charlene. That feeling was back, the nervous almost excited idea that Marty would look at him and not see the empty husk he had been piloting these last few years but a real person, something to exist with in real space and time. Something he didn’t have to worry about.

“Mr Cohle?”

Marty had sped down the motorway, his heart in his throat. It was stupid and he knew that but he couldn’t shake the feeling of fear climbing its way up his spine at the idea that Rust was outside, walking around, and not at home safe in Marty’s house. He scrunched up his face at himself in his rear view mirror at the stoplight nearest his intersection. He would never admit it, and he felt guilty at how possessive it was but he had liked having Rust stay at home. He had control; he could keep him safe there from himself and from the outside world too. Marty sniffed and pulled into the rear carpark. He knew that was unhealthy, his possessiveness had always been something he had indulged but times were different.

He walked around to the storefront a little breathlessly glancing through the window to see Charlene chuckling to herself, head on her hand as she spoke to a pair of long skinny legs in too big jeans. He watched her face light up and the way she blushed a little and smirked. It amazed him that Rust never saw the effect he had on women. He just had to turn up with his slow even drawl and his intelligent watchful eyes and they were like putty in his hands. Marty felt a flush rising up his neck and he cleared his throat pushing his way into the office.  Charlene turned to him with a bright smile.

“Speak of the devil and he appears.”

“Hey now, do I look like a devil to you?”

Charlene chuckled and nodded her head towards the couch with a twitch of her eyebrow. It was hidden around the corner behind the wall of filing cabinets and Marty took two steps to the side as Rust climbed to his feet. It wasn’t like he had never allowed himself to admit that Rust was attractive, hell that was a thing that couldn’t be denied by even the tightest asshole back on the force. But the way he closed both his hands around the black notebook in front of himself, the soft brush of his eyelashes against his cheekbones and the guarded flicker of light behind his eyes sent chills down Marty’s spine. The white of his shirt sent light dancing across his soft expression and Rust leant forward on his toes pushing his hips towards Marty as he sniffed; catching a space just above Marty’s eyes for a brief second before looking back down. His face was bare and his hair cut back short, just long enough to push back, freshly washed so flyaway’s curled rebelliously up from the sides of his head. Marty realised he hadn’t actually said anything for a long 30 seconds.

Rust was more than attractive; he was the hottest damn thing Marty had seen in years.

The thought alone that Rust was now staring at him squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin, trying to gage Marty’s reaction like it really mattered, made him a little weak at the knees.  He cleared his throat willing his voice to work. “You finally decide that the conspiracy nutjob look wasn’t working for you?”

Rust smiled shyly his gaze still on the floor and the dimple that it caused closed Marty’s throat right up. “You saying this look does?”

Marty raised his eyebrows glancing across to where Charlene was doing her best impression of busy work. He sucked in a breath between his teeth and gave the slightest nod, his eyes bouncing away as he caught Rusts open and obviously pleased expression. He nodded his head towards his office “C’mon, you must have a good reason to drag your hide all the way across town.”

 Rust felt more solid and human than he had in weeks. He didn’t know what he had expected but for Marty to stop dead like that when he saw him did wonders for his conviction that he was right about Marty’s repressed feelings, and it wreaked havoc on his own nerves to keep on that train of thought. Marty smelt freshly showered, his shirt still a little damp around his neck. Rust looked over to Charlene as they moved past and she chuckled to herself. He smiled in return almost bumping into Marty as he unlocked the office door. Rust reached out briefly placing a palm on Marty’s back feeling the solid weight of him and the heat already radiating through his jacket. For a moment he felt Marty push back and then they were into the office, Marty leaning over his computer as he fired it up. Rust took a seat in one of the chairs across the desk from him and just watched as Marty got himself situated. His mind wandered to all the mornings he had woken early to find Marty already gone. He had just assumed that it was a Marty’s mental bullshit that was making him leave, he sniffed, turns out it was just his own lack of self-worth that was at the root of the sick emptiness he was put through each time.

The office was very tidy, a enormous wooden bookcase dominating the room from behind the desk. It was littered with books on law, Marty’s retirement photo, and in pride of place next to his framed PI licence a battered yearly force photo that had been folded roughly to show just Marty and Rust. Rust bit the skin around the edge of his thumbnail checking to see if Marty was watching. He was frowning at his computer tapping away as he checked his email. Rust’s eyes slid back to the photo. He remembered that day; he had only been in Louisiana for a week when he was roped into taking that photo. He hadn’t been assigned yet and when he turned up to the shoot the other cops had stood around in groups eyeing him suspiciously like the popular kids on the first day of school. Marty had been the one to say something first, he had broken from the group striding over to where Rust had been leant against the wall as inconspicuously as he could. His expansive personality had flexed and bowed the walls around them, the whole room shrinking to the pinpoint motion of his swagger.

Rust still remembered the way he had grabbed Rusts’ hand all polite, gauging him in steely blue from under his long curled eyelashes. His thatch blonde hair had shone in the sun and his hand had been warm and rough as Rust pumped it forcing himself to actually make eye contact. The smell of his cologne had lingered on Rusts fingers for some time after that and he scoffed to himself, he had been suckered from the start really.

“Detective Hart, you can call me Marty.”

Rust had nodded stumbling to speak after so much silence. “Cohle.”

He had disliked Marty, or at least the Marty that was present in the bull pen, almost immediately but the way the room had waited on his reaction, the way he smiled big and easy and slapped a heavy palm onto Rust shoulder turning back to the guys as if to present him to the group, it was fascinating as much as it was sickening. He always hated the type of man who charmed everyone; they always had something to hide. Nether the less when he had been asked to choose between Marty and a rookie as his partner he hadn’t hesitated.

“What have you got then?”

He was snapped out of his reverie and he clocked his eyes back onto the corner of Marty’s mouth. As human as he felt and as much as he didn’t give a shit what people thought of him he sucked on his bottom lip for a second keeping his eyes away from Marty’s face. He reached out and tossed the book across the desk so it slapped onto the hardwood with a bang. Marty nodded and pulled it towards himself flipping open the pages. Rust waited for him to start reading and followed the bump of his eyes side to side, his jaw jutting out more and more as he read. Marty cleared his throat and looked up.

They shared a look that said it all. Marty didn’t see, he didn’t understand what was happening here yet.

Rust sighed and ran a hand through his newly shorn hair.

“What is this shit Rust?”

“A case.”

“A _case_? Look man I know you’ve been getting a little bored at home an all but if you –“

Rust got to his feet in one fluid languid motion his hips swaying as he slid around the desk to bump into Marty shoulder. He leant down flipping back to the front page, one long finger tapping three forceful loud knocks onto the symbol that had made his blood run cold. “Know what this is Marty?” His voice was low and it rumbled deeply.

Marty took a second to react blinking stupidly at Rust fingers, then his hip and then his face. “No Rust, I don’t”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This one focuses on Marty's POV a lot more than I was planning. I hope you guys like it!

Truth was that he was scared; he wanted this to be nothing because he knew there was no way he would be able to stop Rust from getting in on it. There would be no keeping him home if this turned out to be anything more than a girl losing interest in her friend. The fact that he was even considering there might be more to this came down only to Rust’s worried lip and the way he had practically begged Marty to just let him show him something back at his old storage unit. Something he promised would mean that they couldn’t leave this alone.

Marty flinched as the car door slammed behind him in the growing gale. He was scared that they would take this case, it would be something way deeper than his every day shit, and that he was still thinking of cases as _theirs_. Rust wasn’t even licensed, he was supposed to just stay at home and be safe. Marty looked over to where Rust was kicking his gym bag, wrinkling his nose up as he folded his long legs up in the foot well to avoid standing on Marty’s things. He glanced over with a sniff and Marty blushed.

He looked so ethereal, like an actor in some movie that you knew was too handsome for the role they were playing.

“Is this where you’ been going every morning?”

Marty looked back over his shoulder as he pulled out of the carpark feeling the pressure rising in his throat. What was he supposed to say? Yeah Rust, I’ve been going to the gym so I can impress you? I think almost dying was what I needed to finally come to terms with the fact I might find the occasional dude attractive? That one of the guys I find attractive is you?

“You know some people come out of a situation like Carcosa and think that maybe it’s worth not running headfirst into the dark after all. Just trying to put that moment back as far as I’m able.” That made Rust raise an eyebrow but he didn’t say anything else, just pushed a hand through his hair and leant up against the window. Marty flushed his mind racing with the conclusions Rust was probably making. He felt like if he risked making eye contact Rust’ burning gaze would see through him like glass. After about three minutes Marty trusted himself to look over again to find Rust dozing, his eyes shut and his normally tense posture slumped back into his seat. He was still recovering, he would be for a long time, but to see him so wiped out just by coming to town for a couple of hours made Marty’s throat close up. He was thankful for many things but for every day he saw some little improvement in Rusts condition was a gift he would cherish forever.

They hadn’t been back to Rusts storage space since they had left the hospital. The things they had moved to Marty’s offices had been boxed up and stored in his garage the day before he got Rust out and there had been no reason to come back. Marty leant against the wall as the fuzzy drizzle collected and dripped down his jacket. He was watching Rust rifle through his boxes, bending over stiffly. He had tried to help at first only to be sent away by a gruff “Fuck off, you’re gonna mess it up.”

“You saying this pile of garbage actually has a _system_?” He waved his hand to a stack of loose papers raising an eyebrow. Rust glanced over his shoulder with a sarcastic glare but didn’t say anything. He moved over to another pile of boxes and began rifling through them. Marty sighed and picked his way across the unit to the long corner desk where he moved some files from a wooden dining chair. He sat down picking up a few papers. Random chicken scratch writing filled the pages. Names and phrases crossed out or repeated in Rust too big messy scrawl. Marty remembered the shit he used to give him about carrying around that ledger, telling him the only reason he need a notebook that big was because he’d fill an entire pocketbook with one sentence otherwise. He thought about the first time he had brought it out on a case, hurling it up off of his hip and leaning over all focused to make a detailed line drawing of the doorway of the crime scene, the way the murder weapon lay on the carpet and a framing of the body lit by the streetlight outside. He had secretly been impressed by his artistic ability.

Marty picked at a thread on his slacks, chewing the inside of his cheek.

He thought about the time they had been in the bullpen and Rust had his drawings laid out on his desk, standing there just staring at them. Marty had come back from getting a coffee and stood next to him trying to see just whatever he saw. They had stood together for what felt like forever bumping shoulders and Marty had started to feel awkward, so he told him the truth.

“Shame about the subject, but those are pretty good man.”

He had kept his voice low and quiet, not wanting the guys to hear him saying something so soft. Rust had been broken from his reverie and had turned to look at him, his face open and surprised, a softness around his eyes which had haunted Marty’s thoughts for weeks later. Rust had been about to say something when the other detectives piped up.

“You saving those for a lonely night Cohle?”

“That’s every night for that weirdo”

Marty had fought to keep his sudden flare of anger from his face, simply putting his coffee mug down with a bang. It was enough to turn the hyenas away but the moment he had shared with Rust had gone.

“Here.”

Marty blinked up at Rust as he gently placed another ledger in front of him. It was filled to the brim with Rusts writing, drawings of the people mentioned filled the margins and Marty sat up in his seat trying to get a bead on what he was being shown.

Rust pointed to his own drawing of the symbol Marty had seen in Sean’s book. He glanced up and Rust was till staring down at the pages his worried lip red and shiny. Reading Rusts notes was always a trail in deciphering sentences that went nowhere and lines that would almost read as poetry if they weren’t descriptions of murders and thieves. This particular page started out describing a town Rust had ended up in sometime during his lone investigation of the Tuttle family, a small community in Maine where a church was previously owned by the Tuttle name before being bought out by the local co-op. He described the place as claustrophobic, the people as dim-witted and distrustful and devoted half a page to the acidic mix of starch and ink he felt permeated the air. The symbol was something Rust had noticed on the caretaker’s shirt. A pin he had shined to the point of blinding and which Rust had noted was present on bumper stickers and on leaflets around the town. The Tuttle lead has been a dead end and Rust notes quickly moved on to the next small town, to another murder threaded into his investigation no more said about that place or the people in it.

Marty was intently away of Rusts hip bumping against his shoulder, pushing his shirt to stick to his sweat dampened shoulder. He didn’t trust his voice to work but it did, coming out a little shaky and quiet. “You think this symbol means something? You think this is connected to Carcosa?”

“No, I ruled that out. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t somethin’ going down there Marty. Something worth looking into.”

He was floored. His stomach dropped and he balled up his fists taking a few short breaths through his nose. This was happening. He looked up to Rust and found himself the subject of a look that was more focused than he had seen in months, this was definitely happening and there was no way he would be able to stop Rust from coming along. “You got a contact for this Sean?”

Rust sat stewing in the corner office for the entire case interview with Sean his burning stare scorching Marty cheek through the office window. Sean had been polite enough, explaining that they were her last attempt at getting someone professional on this before she headed off to Maine herself. Rust didn’t say anything but every time Sean glanced over to him he nodded slightly as if encouraging her, the both of them working in tandem as if Marty wasn’t already convinced that they had to take this case. As if while Rust had prowled back and forth outside the office giving Sean directions from the Walmart he hadn't been on his computer looking up hotels and booking flights.

He still felt scared; a tiny part of him not touched by his own natural need to be submerged in a case was terrified and screaming at the idea of taking Rust out again where he could be uncontrolled and free. He watched Rust pack a bag from the doorway of the bedroom, his own go-bag prepacked and heavy in his hands. Rust was checking through the balled up socks as if he could pinpoint which ones were his and which ones were Marty’s when he was the one who bought the same cheap multipacks for Rust as he did for himself. He swallowed hard trying not to think too hard about just how much of his lonely retired divorcee life had been filled up and stretched out by this broken and bent alien of a man.

The buildings start to fade away on the way to the airport and as the traffic starts to pick up speed Marty’s eyes catch on a low fenced off building to the side of the road his thoughts drifting back to that night.

“So that’s my secret, what’s yours?”

Marty blushes trying to force his hands to stay steady. He glances up at Max’s sympathetic eyes his face close and conspiratorial and presses his lips together. He takes a sip of his beer keeping his eyes on the way the alcohol swirled around in the dim lights.

“You always known that you-you’re- you are gay?” He says the word out loud and winces at how clumsy it sounds. Max just nods matter of fact. “An’ you never had issue with it?”

Max wiped the counter where it was already clean. “I am pretty lucky that I have pretty cool parents. I mean, I’m not saying I haven’t wished I could turn it off, or pick better guys or anything but it’s not been a big thing for me.”

“Well, my pop would’ve beaten that ever-loving shit out of me if he had found out.” Marty takes another swing and Max reaches out placing a hand on his forearms his hands sweaty and damp but warm. Marty wonders if he can feel him shaking but doesn’t look up. He had to get it out now or he would never tell anyone about it and that would mean this whole night he had etched out would’ve been for nothing. It would just be another lie he had given to Rust for no reason.

“Not that he didn’t beat me for other shit but that was just my pop. Truth is I guess since I do like women well enough it was easy for me to just sort of avoid thinking about- about guys or at least ignore when I did. I mean, until I met Rust-“  

His voice breaks when he says his name and he glances up to see Max is still giving him that look and he has to take a deep breath to stop from giving into the urge to run. The beer is cold in his hand and he can’t feel his fingers.

“I mean I guess I tried in the beginning to just chalk it up to him being his usual irritating weirdo self you know? He is just one of those people that excites and confuses everyone around them, but then I ‘spose not everyone gets as fucking hounded by it as I am. We went through some real serious shit together, and I remember lying in a hospital bed thinking about how I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t rest without knowing where he was. I must’ve bugged the shit out of every nurse, doctor and fucking passer-by with how much I was asking after him.

It is just this undeniable thing that there’s me and him. We’re a team. Fuck I mean we didn’t see each other for years and then he fucking pops back into my life like he ain’t ever left and it was like opening my eyes again after a decade of just goin’ through the motions. Don’t get me wrong he just about drives me up the wall, always needling and looking, watching everyone so closely like he is just waiting for them to fuck up so he can make a snide comment. And he says some really fucked up shit sometimes, like how the air tastes wrong or how the clouds are heavy with the weight of people expectations in a summer storm or some shit that is just designed to make you feel stupid except he is being fucking earnest about it. But I guess lying there I realised that I honestly don’t give a shit about that or about any of the shit that happened way back whenever because all I cared about was seeing him again.”

He stops, realising his voice had raised and the couple who had been arguing to his left were staring at him their mouths hanging open. Max sucked in a breath that sounded suspiciously like a sob and Marty blinked letting out a disbelieving chuckle. “That’s beautiful Marty…” his voice was soft and Marty felt the colour rising in his cheeks.

He shrugged. He felt relief, like the fear and the shame and the pressure of hiding it all had just melted off of his shoulders in the warmth and the glow of the bar.

“So I guess _my_ secret is that I’m fucking stupid. I came here tonight because I wanted to make sure that it isn’t just that I like dudes and having repressed that shit for so long my dick is just sort of deciding on the guy closest to me will do, or if it is worth fucking up the most monumentally important relationship I have left. I mean it’s pretty obvious now I said all that shit out loud ain’t it.”

Max nodded and Marty sat up a little straighter. He was doing this; he was going to say it out loud for every person in that bar to hear.

He wasn’t scared anymore.

“I’m in love with Rust.”


	6. Chapter 6

Rust had been quiet since Marty had woken him, pulling his suitcase along with Rusts old gym bag slumped over the handle. It was cold outside the airport and Rust had taken a new soft cotton sweater from his bag, it swamped him like so many of his clothes these days the cuffs rolled up a few times so Rust could flick his cigarette ash onto the tiles. His wrist bones jutted out and Marty was momentarily mesmerised by his long fingers neat and precise work flipping open the carton and placing the white stick to Rust’ parted waiting lips. Marty looked up to see he was being watched and narrowed his gaze, raising an eyebrow at Rust.

“I thought you were quitting that shit?”

Rust sniffed looked down at the cigarette thoughtfully. He grunted taking one long drag before throwing it down only half smoked and crushing it with his heel. Marty blinked in surprise but Rust didn’t say anything he just reached out grabbing his bag and headed off through the sliding doors into departures. The most Marty managed to get out of him until they got onto the plane was almost inaudible thanks when he handed him a bacon roll in the cramped departures lounge. They had picked two seats facing out over the Airfield closest to their gate, the floor to ceiling windows showcasing the dark rolling clouds and the swirling curtains of drizzle rushing across the tarmac. Rust sat with his hands linked on his lap, pale blue just visible under his hooded eyelids. Marty had brought a brand new notebook with him, as he did with all cases, somewhere to write down his ideas, key facts and figures of every case. For the simple cheating husband or stolen property he would fill in maybe one or two pages, dates lining the margins. But starting a new book normally meant he was onto something big.

Their flight had been delayed by only half an hour but the corresponding chorus of groans and angered shouts following the announcement had raised Rust from Marty had realised was a light but desperately needed nap. His lips curled and he bit down on the urge to turn around and glare at the other passengers for waking the sleeping man. Rust shifted in his seat, fingers grasping tightly to his jeans until his eyes found Marty catching first a space below his right cheekbone and then the notebook in his hands before sliding closed again. Marty reached out and placed the softest touch to Rusts forearm feeling the cold cotton and as Rust shifted his pinkie finger brushed against Rusts exposed wrist bone sending shivers down his spine.

Marty was still thinking about that motion, how Rust hadn’t shaken him off, he hadn’t even acknowledged the touch until Marty had removed his hand, getting to his feet as their gate opened. And then he simply opened his eyes again sitting up straighter his shoulders pulling tight around his chest. He was thankful for his own punctuality when they managed to board amongst the first few passengers, squeezing themselves down the aisle to the two seats at the emergency doors. Marty had never flown with Rust before, and when he had booked their seats he had been thinking that should Rust take it badly he could at least keep the other passengers from being too close.

Rust immediately slipped into the window seat, pushing himself past Marty so that for an uncomfortable couple of seconds they were pressed chest to back in the too warm too small cabin. Marty was left a little shocked for a brief second before the guy coming up behind them sighed loudly in his ear. He glanced over at the guy and reached up, lifting both of their bags over his head to push them into the open overhead storage.  Marty had clicked his teeth but Rust didn’t react, shuffling about and messing with the window shade. He made sure to keep his gaze on the impatient passenger, making a meal of checking the bin had closed properly before slowly sliding into his seat with a smirk. Rust quickly turned his head away as though he had been watching but didn’t respond when Marty muttered about people having no manners these days, not even to criticise him for being reactionary or anything.

It wasn’t a long flight, for which, Marty was thankful as he had always hated flying. Not because he was scared of crashing, or even because he of the other passengers he would end up with. He hated the period of time where he was unable to get into contact with the people outside of the plane. For the hours and minutes he was up in the air it was as though he was removed entirely from his life, and from the people in it. Marty shifted in his seat as a bump of turbulence rocked the cabin abruptly side to side before swooping them down and up again in the space of 30 seconds. Rust had been quietly drawing in the margins of Marty’s casebook annotating his notes and crossing out lines he felt Marty needn’t take record of. But now he was gripping onto the armrest with white hot fear flickering in his eyes, his gaze darting around the skies outside of their little porthole window.

“Rust?” He kept his voice soft and quiet, taking in Rusts feet kicking out in the foot well, his eyes screwed tightly shut as he took short gasping breaths. “Rust!” He reached out grabbing his forearm again and scooted closer. He checked over his shoulder to make sure they weren’t causing a scene, thankful for the small child three rows back who had grabbed the flight attendants attention. “Hey man, you gonna hurl?”

Rust took one long shuddering breath and opened his eyes, gaze fixed out of the window again. “It will pass.” Rust’ voice was so quiet Marty had to lean in to catch it, gasping in surprise when Rust pulled his arm back releasing himself from Marty’s grasp to link his fingers. He squeezed his hand tightly, a little painfully in fact due to the odd position, and Marty reached out taking his notebook off of Rusts lap so he could put their joined hands in a more comfortable spot.

“Hey, I’m here alright…” he looked again at Rusts darting eyes and something clicked. “You havin’ a vision?” Rust took another long breath in through his nose and sat back in his seat his eyes unfocused and a little wild sweat beading at his hairline. He lifted his chin in an exhausted half nod and Marty bit his lip rubbing his thumb over the bump of Rusts knuckle. They stayed like that for the rest of the flight, Rust stiff and silent like a statue except for the overwhelming heat of his hand and the way he occasionally flexed under Marty’s grasp.

He still wasn’t talking when they left the airport, the cold drizzle following them across country and beating them back with renewed fervour. They had exited their plane and gone through security in silence Rusts warm and solid grip a constant thought in the back of his mind as soon as it was taken away. He left Rust waiting in a bus stop shelter as he went to pick up their hire car, blushing a little at Rusts expression as he pulled up to the side of the bay.

“Wow Marty, you really splashed out on us.”

Marty glared at him as he watched Rusts head bob around in the rear view mirror, his low whistle as he took in the rough wooden truck bed and the obviously replaced rear locks. He looked over to Marty with a raised eyebrow and slid the door shut, appearing at the passenger side a moment later. The seats up front were hard, and the interior clean but shabby and repaired in a few places. “I’m sorry, next time I’ll get you that Bentley you clearly expected.”

Rust chuckled and leant forward in his seat fiddling with the old radio tuning through local news stations to soft country music. “This the only thing they had left?”

“It’s the only thing I could afford that wasn’t some fucking electric child’s toy, now are you gonna stop your bellyaching and set this up?” he reached into his bag and pulled out the Satnav the girls had bought him two Christmases ago as though they had actually wanted him to drive down to visit. He had never used it; instead opting for trains where he could feel himself surrounded by other humans and not be alone with is thoughts.

 

The wind had really picked up by the time they got off the highway, sending rivers and rivulets of rain streaking across the passenger windows. Rust leant his head against the freezing glass and closed his eyes. Marty had switched the old radio over to some local news channel but had turned it to low after about five minutes, his eyes flickering across to Rust’s lax and heavy form.

Rust thought about the last time he had been in this town, it had been just after Christmas and the streets were still draped heavily with garlands and lights, turned off and starting to brown. The muddy dregs of snow had lined the main street and the soft drizzle had persisted as though the town was always drowning in rain. Main Street, aptly named, was always oddly full of people no matter the time of day, walking up and down visiting the three restaurants or the seafront shops. The far end furthest from the coast housed an outdoor theatre and behind that the three building school perched up on a hill next to an oddly grandiose church. There were few cars on the roads and people smiled wide greeting each other as though everyone was a friend.

It was someone’s idea of idyllic. Somebody unmarred by their human experience, who still believed in a true happiness that could be achieved by a house and 2.5 kids. Somebody else.

He rolled the window down a notch or two and blinked against the burst of frozen air that shot across his golden curls. The air smelt the same, stiff bitter starch spreading across Rusts tongue. He thought about the hotel, how tight and constricted the walls felt. The way the woman on the front desk’s eyes had followed him every step he took to his room as though waiting for him to reveal some evil truth about himself. The way he had still felt that gaze as lay in bed that night not sleeping. How every single person he had met had made him feel the same way.  

The houses and shops rolled by and Rust sat up in his seat as they took a left turn at the end of the main street, heading away from the centre of town towards the coast. Marty had turned the Satnav off in favour of stopping at a gas station just outside of town to draw himself a map on the back page of his new book using the road map stuffed under the driver’s seat. Rust had been amusing himself watching the various shades of pink and red Marty would turn every time he missed his exit and the female voice admonished him before re-tracking their route.

“Where we goin’?”

Marty glanced over but wouldn’t make eye contact a slight blush ghosting his cheeks. “I didn’t want to draw attention to us too much so I used this app Charlene’s always going on about to book us something a little more private…” Marty trailed off, probably only now realising the implications of his words. He cleared his throat and flexed his hands on the wheel, the air con rattling away in the awkward silence. Rust sniffed, shifting in his seat, there was something in the way Marty was focussing too hard on the road, his actions too purposeful that let Rust know there was something more to Marty’s accommodation choices than he was letting on.

They turned down a winding gravel road and when Marty pulled over at the side of the road, just outside what appeared to be the only house for a mile or more, Rust took the opportunity to reach across and turn the radio off. He rolled the window down all the way his fingers damp as he tilted the wing mirror to get a better angle of Marty stood at the front door. He had his hands on his hips, his new jeans a little tighter and fitting better than the ones Rust had stolen. His uniform check shirt tucked in to a black leather belt on its last hole, tail sticking out past the hoops in his jeans. Marty had lost a fair bit of weight these past few months of gym visits, not quite as lean as when Rust first met him, but more solid and more full of energy not derived from his simmering rage than he had been when Rust turned back up so many years later.

He pulled a cigarette from the pack in his pocket but didn’t light it. Marty was making changes to keep clinging to this life so Rust felt he owed him enough to stick at it too.

He rolled the cigarette across his bottom lip and tapped it against his teeth as a stocky balding man opened the door giving Marty the once over before shaking his hand. Marty leant into him and said something that made the man nod, relaxing into Marty’s enigmatic pull immediately. He made a motion as if to invite him in but Marty took a step back thumbing over his shoulder. The man made eye contact with Rust in the mirror and he lifted a hand in greeting. The guy looked a little surprised his eyes bouncing back and forth between them both before he said something to Marty. Marty chuckled, but it sounded unnatural even to Rusts distant ears, answering the guy with a confident grain and this sent the guy back into the house. Marty didn’t look back but looped his thumbs into his pockets and coughed spitting on the guys doorstep just before he came back. He handed over a set of keys and Marty said something which the guy laughed at and they shook hands again before Marty turned back waving a hand over his shoulder as he slipped back into the driver’s seat.

“Asshole.”

Rust didn’t ask.

They continued on down the road, turning around a cliff face to reveal an enormous white stone lighthouse. Rust actually gasped unable to hide his surprise. Marty looked over at him as if gauging his reaction, his hands flexing nervously on the steering wheel. Rust leant forward tapping a hand on the dash. “Guess the money you saved on this fucking thing went somewhere else…”

Marty grinned relaxing and titling his body towards Rust as though to look under the window edge at the archway over the entrance to the lighthouse grounds. He smelt like fresh cotton and warmth rolled off of him in waves. Rust took a deep breath when they got out of the van, the salt soaked air filling his lungs and ripping him violently back to Alaska and fishing early in the morning with his dad. The wind roared in the trees and the sea crashed against the rocks and Rust could do nothing but stand there and breathe. The floor seemed to move up against his feet as if launching him up and away into the swirling clouds.

Marty was busy striding around the small gravel yard, taking a turnabout the outside of the small white building attached to the lighthouse itself, opening the door to a beaten wooden shed to reveal the generator for the house. He sniffed and started rummaging around, swearing loudly as he pressed the buttons only for it to kick a few times before failing. Rust shook his head pulling his sleeves down as he turned the house pulled out of his moment of peace. He scuffed his shoes against the floor trying to get a view of what Marty was doing. He sucked in a breath to lean over Marty’s shoulder.

“You turn the surge check off first?”

Marty glanced over his shoulder and Rust was struck by how long his eyelashes were above the glare he was receiving. “Go on then _genius_. “

Marty took a half step back cocksure and sarcastic. Rust took a second, his hands balled up inside his sleeves. He sniffed and took a look at the buttons on the panel and raised an eyebrow hiding a smirk. He rolled his sleeves up a little and leant in making sure to keep real close to Marty, their chests almost bushing as he stared him right in the eyes. He flicked the white switch labelled surge and then pressed in the two green buttons the generator sputtering once before kicking in to a low purr that slowly became a roar as the two men stood face to face in silence. All the anger had dropped from Marty’s face; he didn’t even looked embarrassed, instead something stormy brewing behind his eyes, the shade provided by the shed roof sending his baby blues a swirling grey. His lips set in a hand line and Rust took a second to pull his own gaze away licking his lips expectantly. They were so close; he could taste Marty’s breath, the black sludge like coffee from the gas station and Marty’s aftershave mixing on his tongue.

“Huh, ain’t that a trick.”

His voice was like warm taffy and Rust took a breath in opening his mouth. He had been thrumming with energy, ready to react to anything Marty was willing to give him, but now as Marty titled his head as if thinking about leaning in the last few inches he started to hesitate.

Thinking about how much Marty deserved, how much he clearly wanted this, and how easily Rust could destroy him by not being human enough.

The moment went on a second too long and Marty cleared his throat too loudly, jarring in the tight space as he stepped away. Rust winced reaching out into the space he had occupied. He listened to Marty’s unsteady steps crunch in the gravel back to the van and the door open and close. He shut his eyes sinking into his bones.

“ _Shit_.”


	7. Chapter 7

Rust left Marty in the van, feeling his stomach churn at the wasted moment. As sure as he was that Marty did feel a certain something for him, he couldn’t help but distrust his own mind. What if he was simply forcing their interactions into something more? What if he did make a move and it was too much too soon and he sent Marty running for the hills for good? It was a risk and it felt infinitely more terrifying than any relationship he had had before. Tiny droplets of ice cold drizzle dripped from the overhang onto his cheek and Rust sniffed, ashamed at his own cowardice. He was just making excuses.  

Rust peered in through the low windows at the simple wooden furniture of the kitchen, two dining chairs placed on opposite ends of a small square table, bare wooden cupboards and an ancient looking gas stove. There was a chalk board pinned to the wall, the still faint markings not quite rubbed away exclaimed _Happy  Anniversary!_  He thought about how many couples had come here looking for an escape. The van door slammed behind him, Marty’s footsteps crunching heavily on the gravel. He thought about how many couples had rented this place as their last ditch attempt to keep themselves together.

“You gonna stand around creeping in the windows or you comin’ in?”

Marty’s voice was whisked away by the growing gale but Rust shook himself from his own thoughts and took the command immediately, crossing the space quickly and reaching to take his bag from Marty’s grasp only for him to gently lift it out of his range. He still treated him with kid gloves, had done since they had come home from the hospital. Rusts eyelids fluttered and he sniffed, Marty probably would never stop treating him like that, it was too closely tied to his overbearing controlling nature.  He took a step forward bringing himself close to the other man, their movement’s tandem as they crossed the threshold suddenly deafened by the silence inside. The stale faintly damp smell of the house wafted across Rusts face and he struggled to look up to see the expression on Marty’s face.

His eyes were fixed on Rusts wrists and bounced up for a brief second as if he was going to say something. They shared another unsteady gaze, Rusts tongue sweeping across his dry lips as his voice somehow stalled at his tongue. He wanted to say it, to explain it all right now on the terracotta tiles with the wind rushing through the open front door. He wanted to take the plunge and finally tell Marty that he wanted him but the voice in the back of his mind lulled him in and time seemed to stretch out to the picture of the wrinkle in the corners of Marty’s eyes and the red shiny slit in his bottom lip. Then suddenly it all snapped back, the seconds all rushing in at once, and Marty was already turning his back as he stamped across the kitchen without a word. He felt like he was on the come down, his skin jumping and nerves jumping under the soft brush of his sweater sleeves.

The path they had put them on with this case played out in Rusts head as one of two stories. One in which they solved the case, finding Paige and taking her out of whatever situation she had found herself in with nothing coming of the heightened sense of closeness the little lighthouse gave them. Or Rust could see himself snapping, turning to Marty and telling him the truth about how he was the only good reason he had left to cling to the world, and he could see Marty turning tail and running like he always did when he couldn’t deal with his own truths.

Rust watched the muscles in Marty’s arms flex as he lifted their bags up the short step into the living room just beyond the kitchen and again up another two steps into the doorway behind. He reached back closing the front door, sealing them away from the world. The cold afternoon light was starting to fade, casting shadows across the wooden floor of the living room. It creaked as Rust stepped up onto it, the open archway hiding a fair sized room with a log burning fire, an ancient looking TV sitting unplugged on its stand and a gigantic pale gold coloured leather sofa, its cushions sagging and drooping with use. On the coffee table sat a small booklet with information about the lighthouse and Rust picked through the first couple of pages sniffing at the obviously homemade history complete with clipart and photographs of old residents. There was a soft thumping from the doorway beyond and Rust crossed his arms across his chest taking the plunge to follow Marty in.

It lead to a short corridor, an open closet to his left and a small bathroom in faded pink ceramic. To his right was another doorway and at the end of the corridor an open doorway revealed the master bedroom. The walls were painted brick, white like the lighthouse, and the small double bed made up in fresh white cotton. Pictures of fishing boats at sea and a life-ring hung on the walls and Rust crossed the room to the large bay window looking out at a spectacular view of the cliffside and the thundering waves beyond. The sun was starting to dip on the horizon and Rust thought about the other doorway, probably the second bedroom.

He bit his lip, with another bed to hand what did Marty expect from him? Was he supposed to offer to take the spare? Or would Marty offer? Stating Rusts still poor health? An opportunity to escape him for the long cold night?

Marty cleared his voice from the doorway and but Rust didn’t turn around, too scared of what his face would betray. “Hey uh, If you need to take a nap or meditate or contemplate the moment or whatever I’m going to be in the kitchen. … I’m going to see if I can get onto the internet out here, I saw a couple of flyers while we were at the gas station that had a website for the local church group so I figured that would be a good place to start…” He heard Marty pause and then sigh, his hand dragging almost lingering on the doorframe as he left. Rust leant on the windowsill with both hands, staring down at his own fingers. He blinked slowly contemplating instead the ghost of Marty’s fingers entwined with his own as the clouds swirled a vortex outside the plane window.

Night fell suddenly, the oddly cold sunlight vanishing behind thickening dark clouds over the horizon and Marty rubbed his dry eyes against the bright light of his laptop. He had managed to wire himself into what appeared to be the world’s slowest internet connection. The church’s website hadn’t given him much, there was a meeting the next day for announcing the years scholarship winners and a meet and greet afterwards. The website chirped happily that all newcomers were welcome and that the church boasted an unrivalled record of community support and investment. He noted the address’s despite having passed the church grounds on the way into town.

On one page labelled ‘meet the family’ a group photo of the church members loaded in line by line slowly revealing over a hundred smiling faces, the front row clearly all related. Marty took the time to commit each one to memory, each young woman scoured more deeply into his mind than the others. He was unable to help himself from looking too closely to see if their smiles were a little too tight or if they didn’t reach the corner of their eyes. Any one of them could be Paige. Any one of them could be in danger.

Any one or even, every one.

Marty stretched; shuddering when his back popped, the wind roared outside and the dark clouds raced across the bay towards the shore. He pushed his wooden chair back letting out a groan as he got to his feet, knees and lower back aching from being settled on the unforgiving seat for too long. Flicking the laptop shut with one hand he flinched at the loud click it made, wary suddenly that Rust might be sleeping. He toed off his shoes and padded softly up the steps to the living room and again up holding his breath as he opened the door.

The wood creaked a little on its hinge and Marty cringed, his eyes shooting to the bed where a rumpled pile of sheets revealed Rust lying flat on his back with one soft cotton clad arm thrown over his eyes. His sweater rode up a little at his waistline and Marty reflexively ripped his eyes away from Rusts bare legs and the thin black fabric of his boxers. He swallowed frowning to himself and turned back allowing himself to look again. Rust still had much of the muscle tone he had sported way back when and Marty could see the edge of one of his shiny pink scars splitting the skin to the side of his belly button dipping down into his waistband. One leg was propped up and bent so his knee hung over the edge of the bed highlighting the muscles in his thighs. Marty sniffed and peered into the darkness to see how heavily Rust was breathing, but he was too far away and his failing eyesight betrayed him.

The bed was smaller than the king sized monster they shared at home, _much_ smaller, and Marty turned to where he had hung their clothes side by side in the tiny wooden closet recessed into the wall. He stripped in silence, freezing as his foot caught in his pyjama bottoms and he stumbled, one hand flying out and hitting the closet door shut with a thump. He flushed knowing that if Rust woke up he would look like a fool, bottoms around his knees. He narrowed his gaze trying to make out Rusts face in the pale blue light streaming in the wide bay window. He wasn’t moving but Marty could almost feel his conscious’ presence suddenly appear in the air around him, he pulled his bottoms up fully and shuffled towards the bed in anticipation of some snide comment. He paused but Rust didn’t budge, the light still too dim for him to make out a waking breath or a furtive glance under soft grey cotton.

He reached out lifting the sheets and sliding onto the springy but soft mattress, biting his lip when he was only halfway in and could already feel the heat and weight of Rust next to him. He tried to orientate himself, moving slowly and deliberately so he didn’t jostle the other man too much only hear a short exhale in his ear when he finally settled as though Rust had been holding his breath the whole time. Marty licked his lips staring blindly up at the white ceiling glowing in the dark. The sheets felt heavy and filled his senses with the radiating heat of starched cotton that would normally comfort but only reminded him of the cadet camp his father had sent him on every summer as a lad and the guilt he would feel when his thoughts inevitably turned to the young sergeant coach asleep in the office at the end of the dorm room.

Back at home it was easy to avoid acknowledging the other man sharing his space; he would’ve had to purposefully reach out across the expanse of the beds midline to touch him. Marty thought about the nights where Rust woke him in the early hours with soft whimpers or even with the screaming brought on by his night terrors and in one terrifying case an awful chocking gulping noise that reminded him a little too much of the moment he felt him slip away in the spotlights of Carcosa as he begged him to just hold on for one more minute. He thought about how on those nights he would lie paralysed by his inability to help, the urge to reach over and pull him into an embrace battling violently in his chest, his physical presence all he had to offer comfort where words would fail and how even then he failed to offer that. He thought about his own nightmares and how he wouldn’t even have to ask, back in his past life, and Maggie would pull his arms around her waist pushing back until a little part of her touched every piece of him and even her cold toes curled against his shins was a comfort.

But here in this strange little bed he couldn’t lock Rust away behind an imagined wall. He couldn’t avoid his instincts. Rust shifted next to him, arm falling from his eyes, his long legs flexing, naked skin rubbing against Marty’s pyjama’s and the red hot of the sole of his foot burned against his ankle for a brief second, removed and then returned, as Rust shuffled about pulling the quilt back over himself.  

“Marty?”

His voice was a little sleep roughened with a questioning edge and Marty felt weighted down by more than just the covers pulled tight across his chest. He glanced out of the corner of his eye catching Rusts glowing eyes in the dark, illuminated as if by magic in the darkening blue light as he propped himself up on his elbow so he loomed over Marty.

“Go back to sleep Rust. We’ve got lots of work to do tomorrow and I need you rested.”

Rust stared at him for a couple of seconds and Marty looked up at him, his hair mussed and falling forwards over his drawn together eyebrows. His mouth hung open as thought he was going to say something but he seemed to think better of it, biting the inside of cheek and breathing slowly out of his nose. There was pink imprint of his wristwatch on his cheekbone and his breath ghosted softly over Marty’s face.

Marty blinked, back in the generator closet he had thought about kissing Rust, wiping the smirk from his lips with teeth and tongue but now he thought instead of pulling him in close and simply holding him.

He was getting soft in his old age clearly.

Rust nodded to himself and lay back down his arm falling in line with Marty’s, fingers pulling at a loose thread in the bedsheets as if to keep them occupied. “G’night Marty.”

He didn’t say it back. He just hummed in response trying not to concentrate too hard on the soft rumble of his voice he felt through the bedsheets or the smile surrounding Rusts voice.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I just want to thank everyone for your nice comments. I'm in a bad place right now and the support you guys give this story really helps me to keep going with it.

Rust awoke to searing heat surrounding him; the weight of Marty’s arm was looped securely under his armpit to settle his hand in the fabric of Rust’s t-shirt. Marty’s leg pushed up between his thighs as though Rust was straddling his knee and his breath leaving condensation down Rusts spine where Marty had his face pressed up against the bottom of his neck. Every snore vibrated through his back and into his sternum and Rust slowly opened his eyes staring out at the cold morning drizzle battering the windows but not seeing it at all.

Last night he had been on tenterhooks, waiting to see if he would be left to lie alone, terrified and obsessive over what Marty would think, what he would say, how he would say it. And Marty had simply come to bed as though it was a far gone conclusion, he had answered Rusts anxieties without even a single thought and now all Rust could do was wait for him to wake up, and to see the fallout from that too. He supposed he had no reason to worry, after all it was Marty who was wrapped around him like an octopus not the other way around, and it was Marty who had lain in the bed second putting them in this position. But still the voice in the back of his head whispered that this was it, this was the moment where Marty got too close to his truth and ran away.

A seagull clattered onto the windowsill outside, squawking loudly and making Rust jump. He glared at it as its nails scratched against to glass and it flapped its wings, shaking off the rain as it called out to its flock. It squawked again and this time Marty’s fingers curled in and his rumbling snore stopped with a short cough and then a hum. Rust held his breath, trying to note every inch of Marty’s touch to memory before it was taken away. Marty sniffed and lifted his head back to the pillow and Rust closed his eyes just waiting.

After a few seconds, a soft chuckle, like dawn breaking out over dew drenched battlefield.

“Mm, You mind letting me go so I can go take a piss?” his voice was smooth and even despite only just waking. Rust almost swallowed his tongue as he tried to respond, realising he was clenching his knees together around Marty’s thigh.

“You firs-“ his mumble was quiet, almost inaudible but Marty still heard him, laughing deeper now so it forced a answering smile on Rusts lips. Marty sighed and then a minute or so of silence as they both watched the seagull on the windowsill flick and flash its wings a few times before flying away. He was quiet enough Rust was starting to think he had fallen back asleep. “Marty?”

“Yeah?”

“You gon’ take that piss or not? I ain’t saying nothin’ but a man of your age shouldn’t be trying to hold that shit in.”

Marty slapped him hard on the chest and laughed again groaning as he pulled his arm away, sliding his leg out to sit with his back to Rust on the edge of the bed. Rust turned onto his back, taking in the soft cotton of Marty’s t-shirt and the way his forearms flexed as he pushed himself up off the bed onto slightly unsteady feet. He watched him, and when Marty looked back down at him a soft smile on his lips, bit the inside of his cheek. Surprised didn’t begin to cover the way he felt, shock disbelief, and a level of gratitude he couldn’t verbalise in the moment because Marty was not running away. He turned away stumbling off down the hallway and Rust was left with the ghost of him to contemplate, his aftershave still on the warm pillows next to him. He sat up in the bed. Maybe he had made a mistake not kissing him in the generator shed. Maybe there was a third outcome for this case.

Marty moved sluggishly around the kitchen of the house, cracking open a window to let a stream of cold air in as if it would chase away the muggy heaviness of the best night’s sleep he had had for what felt like years. Marty paused as he crouched down in front of the fridge, listening to Rust move around in the bedroom, his shoes creaking on the wooden floor as he closed the bathroom door. There was a bottle of champagne inside the door, a quart of milk, butter and some eggs with a note explaining all food was courtesy of the owner. He stared at the champagne and sniffed, pulling the eggs and butter out to start breakfast. He turned the eggs slowly, listening to the water rushing through the pipes as Rust showered. His thoughts were on the bottle of champagne, he had long removed any alcohol from their home, it was not that he didn’t trust Rust it was more that he didn’t want to give him any more reason to tempt himself than he already had.

He turned the stove off, in one swift movement reaching back into the fridge to take out the champagne, carrying it heavily in his hands to the backdoor and out into the yard. There was a large trashcan out back and he dropped the bottle in with a wince as it clanged heavily onto the empty metal bottom, turning back to the house. He felt guilty, as though this simple act was a show of his doubt in Rust but he reasoned to himself that waking up with Rust that morning was something sweet and he didn’t want anything ruining it.

Even just having to watch Rust struggle with himself for the smallest of moments would be a reminder that this seemingly dreamlike situation he had got them into could all fall down.

He pulled the back door too as he stepped back into the kitchen, thinking about how embarrassed he had felt waking up to find himself wrapped around Rust. He had tried to move away immediately only for Rust to tighten his thighs around Marty, tensing as if he didn’t want him to go and it was enough of  shock to make him laugh. He had decided in that moment that maybe if he could fall in love with Rust; he could return those feelings just as strongly. If that was even the tiniest bit possible then he had no choice but to give his best shot. And so he had relaxed, he had just gone with the moment and the soft warmth in Rusts voice, the absolute disbelief had felt like something precious and so fragile it could break at any second.

The door clicked from the living room and Rust shuffled in wearing a battered denim shirt over a white tank top tucked into a new pair of jeans that fit more snugly about his hips and thighs than Marty’s old pair. Marty raised an eyebrow turning back to the eggs quickly to hide the blush rising in his cheeks. He looked downright indecent with his fresh showered hair dripping onto his impossibly high cheekbones and the shy soft smile that had flicked over his lips as they had made brief eye contact.

“Smells good.”

Marty cleared his throat and flipped the eggs onto the two plates of buttered toast he had prepared. He felt naked in his boxer shorts and t-shirt, conscious of his bare legs and that he hadn’t yet shaved the overnight scruff from his chin. He turned and served the plates unable to get the grin off of his face as Rust took the plate from his hand their shared gaze charged with something fond but still heated that filled him with warmth and deepened his blush. It felt like somehow overnight something had broken and they were far enough away from the world that they could afford every glance, and every little touch that he would normally be so careful to control lest he give himself away.

“You got any thoughts on where you want to start today? I was thinking we could head into town and just get the lay of the land, see if we can get a picture of this family and how the town is with ‘em.”

Rust nodded around his forkful pulling it slowly from his lips and Marty froze mesmerised. Definitely too indecent for breakfast. “Sounds like a plan.” He waved his fork a little his eyes boring a hole into Marty’s soul.

The air hung heavy with unsaid thoughts and Rust finished his plate, his hips thrusting him to his feet and Marty almost chocked on his mouthful his eyes glued to that purposeful motion. The new jeans were a blessing and still Marty cursed them under his breath. He swallowed hard and then watched his delicate wrists as he took the plate away, allowing himself to blatantly take in every detail from under his lashes knowing Rust was noting every micro-expression and twitch in his face.

Knowing he could tell where Marty’s thoughts were.

He shivered at the thought of Rust dressing himself up pretty for him, knowing with sudden clarity that this thing they were dancing around had no better opportunity to come to its head than here in this little lighthouse so far away from normal life it might as well have been on the moon. And all it would take would be for one of them to make the first move. He thought about the generator shed again and cursed himself this time.

Rust stared out at the drizzle running down the ridges of the vans door as they crept into town, pulling into the carpark of the diner. Marty switched the engine off taking the soft country music with it and leaving them with the almost sinister quiet of the town. Occasionally a sea bird would call out or there would be the soft swishing of a car pulling away through the almost permanent puddles but other than that, _nothing_.

Marty pulled his blue windbreaker around himself and Rust waited for him to come around to his side of the van to fall into step. “Where d’you wanna start?” He put his hands into his jean jacket pockets and pushed his elbows in; leaning a little the hear Marty’s muffled reply over the growing wind.

“Well she mentions the library a lot in her notes, says she doesn’t work there anymore but might be a good place to start if that’s a front of theirs.”

Rust hummed, it was a good a plan as any. “It’s a block over I think.”

Marty nodded and they walked in companionable silence unknowingly thinking the same thing. The wind whipped Rust’s ears numb and he tucked his chin to his chest imagining solid warmth across his back and soft sleepy puffs of air across his neck. Their elbows bumped as Marty moved to let another pedestrian past and the woman nodded and smiled wide “Morning!”

Marty gave her his best man-of-the-people toothy grin back and nodded too “Mornin’ ” his drawl was more pronounced and Rust marvelled at his ability to snap into that persona immediately.

She glanced to him and he just twitched his lips feeling her eyes on the back of his head as they carried on down the street. He was brought back to the last time he had been in town, he had tried a more tuned down version of Marty’s mannerisms when he had talked to the townspeople but something more honest to his true self must have shown through the cracks because no one had been convinced.

He had felt like an alien.

Marty stopped suddenly turning on his heel and Rust followed him pressing his palm up against his back as he pulled the heavy wooden door of the library open, his hand lingered sliding down to his waist and then stuffed back in his pockets as Marty stepped back to let him walk in first. He felt a little guilty at how much he just couldn’t stop touching Marty now. They shared a wary almost giddy look before his focus turned to the scene inside. His breath caught in his throat. The room was full of people, tables and bookshelves pushed away from each other to create a wide open space with a mezzanine on one end upon which stood the pastor shown smiling on the church’s website shaking hands with another man.

Marty stepped up behind him and nudged his elbow with a finger. His voice was lowered and tickled his ear as he leant in. “Rust…” he titled his head up to the balcony upstairs. Hanging from the banisters was a hand drawn banner ‘Welcome new friends’ scrawled in black and the golden cross with a single black eye in the centre painted on either end.

The symbol that had sent them all this way.

Rust stiffened and nodded stepping forward into the crowd of almost thirty people only the tiniest hint of panic flickering in his eyes as Marty split away before the mask of his undercover persona slid down. Time to get to work.


End file.
